He was weak.

The world seemed to stop.

Wingbeat.

Alpha, snarling, the glints of glass swirling around him, the shift of one front limb. The gentle clatter of toxic quills.

Wingbeat.

His own breath, an inhale, the slow beat of his heart behind it. He wanted to sweep down, but those shards would not let him. He wanted to shatter the ground, and drop Alpha into a hole from which it would never escape, and then fill that hole with fire.

But the glass stood in his way.

Wingbeat.

The inhale, filling his chest with air. Rage, fury, frustration, boiling over. Dread's head snapped back, and he roared, a deep and echoing cry of primal intensity that throbbed with magicka. His voice thrummed with it, and the magic vibrated with his roar. Resonated. Amplified.

The cave began to shake--all of Canis, trembling; and while Dread, at its epicenter, seemed unaffected, all around the ceiling threatened to fall in. It was not as strong, or as far-reaching, as it could have been: but stalagmites began to crash down, here and there, pointed, heavy, crumbling.

"HE IS A CHILD," Dread bellowed--which was not entirely accurate; but Svartis was his child, and was relatively young, untrained.

Dread thought nothing of the beast picking up a rock; he barely noticed it. The world down there was shaking, tumbling stones smashing into Alpha and he considered his point nearly made--and then, aghast for the fraction of a second that he had to process it, he watched as the stone soared his way.

It impacted his chest, a crushing blow that sent him beating his wings and falling backward in the air; a pained bellow erupted from him, escaping a moment later. It sounded hurt, and he'd felt the smash against his scales--armored or not, that would leave a mark.

It dropped him in the air, as well, the dragon missing a beat of his wings and falling so low that bladed tail swept the ground for an instant; and rather than pull himself up, Dread turned, and fixed his eyes on Alpha.

And inhaled.

The flame-glow lit in his jaws, close as he was, and then he breathed out: neck extending, fins raised, eyes shimmering in the reflected glow of the flame-torrent that now swept out to engulf Orthoclase-Alpha, assuming the creature didn't move fast enough to avoid it. And, with Dread lower, it was closer now, and more intense.

"I WILL LEAVE A MARK!" he roared, and moved as if to fly back higher--as if that, in his mind, was that.

Dread opened his jaws, intending to take another deep breath for another roar, but felt a sharp, intense pain in his chest. The wince was visible, flameglow eyes briefly narrowing, rigid lips half peeling back, and rather than roar he lifted higher in the air.

Wary.

Unwilling to stay close.

"I THINK HE WILL LIVE. IF HE DIES, I WILL EAT YOU," he added, in Alpha's direction. The toxic color and quills probably implied that doing so would be unwise, but Dread was uncreative in his threats.

"SPAR MEANS NOT HARMING LIKE THAT. I WAS ATTACKED BY A CHICKEN," he added, angrily, "THERE IS NO REASON FOR IT!"

Honestly, why did everyone want to beat up the dragon family?!

"I ATE IT. IT CAME BACK. IT WAS A STONE." Dread was still angry, but admitting you ate someone was nice and dangerous, and-

-and suddenly his limbs were working against him, his wings shuddering and dropping him to the ground, splaying out there. The Overseer was talking, but Dread felt fury well up in him, and the instant the control began to slip, he snapped up his head with narrowed eyes.

The fire did not come, and he bellowed impotent rage--shrieking from his point on the ground, struggling fruitlessly against the grinning Overseer's control.